Chapter One.
Knuckles knock on the front door, rapping a Shave-and-a-Haircut melody. Drinking cherry cola, I answer, but nobody’s there. It’s just the front lawn, the narrow road behind that, and the wall of crimson-topped trees behind them. Leaves are like a shifting scar on the horizon. A screeching spray of sparrows explodes out from trees in the distance. It’s a blue, cloudless morning; it’s cold and a stiff wind works the red maple. The grass is tan and a dying green, with bits of white litter from the road. The dark wilderness shades the lawn and the litter. There’s no car in my parents’ driveway apart from my own - a silver Toyota older than me.
A throat clears, and the shock of not being alone is like a slap in the face. I spring a few steps back.
Harris stands there, dressed as the boy version of the powerful man he might become. He’s in a royal blue suit with a red silk tie. A silver tie clip pins it down and cufflinks fasten down the ends of his French cuffs. His outfit is complete with his ever-present smile. His eyes are bright, blue, and locked with mine. Everything on him is in place - crisp as a fresh three-dollar bill. Everything in place save for a sly bit of hair stealing across his brow. I don’t recognize him at first; I think he’s a Mormon.
He juts out his hand at me like we don’t know each other.
I take it and his hand is firm but soft.
He steps in and pushes past me, looking around my parents’ living room and out into their kitchen.
My dad slept on the couch last night; his blanket and pillow are still balled up at the corner seat of the couch. A cigarette tray sits on the floor with several spent filters smothered at the bottom. One or two of them might be roaches. Dishes from breakfast still litter the kitchen table.
“Christ All-Mighty!” Harris says. “Daryl, you live like this?”
I almost ask who he is, but his name pops in my head, and with it comes every moment of our two-year friendship. “Harry, what are you doing here?”
“I like Harris now. What are you doing home?” Harris asks. He checks his watch - a red, plastic Mickey Mouse timepiece. He steals a quick peek up the front stairway. “Holy crap, it’s already ten-forty-five. Where did the day go?”
“I’m sick,” I tell him. “And I live here. What are you doing here?”
“Why do you think I am here?” he asks, flashing me his smile.
“I don’t miss these games, Harry. You’re here to tell me why you’re here.”
“I said I prefer Harris. And I am here because you’re here, and I need you to come with me.”
“I am not doing that,” I say. “I am sick.”
“Ten years ago, we were barely human,” Harris says, unbuttoning his suit jacket and slumping down on the couch. “Have you ever thought about the difference between you then and you now?”
“No, I don’t,” I tell them. I lean against the stairs and take a sip of my cherry cola. “Do you have some kind of point or are you playing more games?”
“A little of both - play is the best method for learning, my buddy, ole pal. But you should think about it: from the day we arrive on the planet and blinking, step into the sun, there’s more to be seen than can ever be seen - More to do than can ever be done. Possibilities, they’re infinite.”
“That’s from the Lion King, and you know it. Harry, I am happy to see you, but I’m done with the nonsense. Head out and call me when you’re ready to talk like a person.”
“I’m happy to head out. We’re actually late, and you’re not dressed to impress,” Harris says. “And I prefer Harris.”
“There is not anything you can say that could get me out that door,” I tell him. “I am sick and you’re crazy.”
“And I’m sick of you talking crazy. Of course, there’s plenty I could say but I am not going to say anything. He is,” Harris says, pointing behind me.
I look but no one’s on the stairs. I have no idea what he’s talking about. “What are you-?” I say. I stop when I notice someone sitting next to Harris, dressed in my chocolate-colored prom tuxedo.
He’s thin like me with my copper-colored skin. A razor bump sits on his face from where I nicked myself shaving. His black hair is freshly shaped up but sprayed with dirt and sweat. He does not have the tie on, and the top three buttons are undone. Specks of dirt and blood dot his hands. It looks like he’s been crying.
“Hey, Daryl,” Harris says to the other Daryl. “Should Daryl stay home today and let me go out there on my lonesome? If you could stop me from going alone, wouldn’t you?”
“You should go with him, man,” the other Daryl tells me without looking at me. He’s breathless and quiet. Not a single muscle moves on his face. “It’s better if you go with him.”
“What happened to you?” I ask, and I don’t recognize my voice coming out of my mouth. A tightness clutches my chest and cold numbness rolls across my skin. I’m scared because the other Daryl is scared, like he infected me. A single, thin line of snot slides from his nostrils.
He does not seem to notice it. “It’s better if you don’t know. Just go with him. It’s better if you go,” he tells me. He puts his head in his hands.
“What time is it-?” I ask myself and then, I lose my nerve. I take a breath, lick my lips, and then try again. “What time is it for you right now?”
“Good question,” Harris says. “This is why I want you because you’re smart.”
“I lost my phone. The last time I knew what time it was, it was past midnight.” He takes his head out of his hands and finally, he looks at me with. The two of us stare like brothers long estranged. The soda can slip from my fingers. Gravity slips from the world. Light slips from the universe. There’s no air. There’s no anything. I can feel the electric bonds between my atoms loosen and spread. I am falling apart and it’s the worst thing in the world.
